The Good Samaritan
by juliasejanus
Summary: The outcome of the Triwizard Tournament when Lord Voldemort realises Harry is most precious, his horcrux not his enemy.
1. Chapter 1

Everything had gone to plan on the night of the new moon on the 29th May 1995. Gone to plan for the Dark Lord, that is. The Hufflepuff student and Triwizard champion lay dead. Even at dusk, his death and the disappearance of the Boy-who-Lived had not even raised alarm at Hogwarts in Scotland in an arena with hundreds of spectators. The Churchyard of Little Hangleton was within the grounds of the old manor house. The village had been moved to a respectful distance in the eighteenth century to make way improvements, when a park was installed for the Lord Riddle's vista. The views were to be pastoral perfection not hovels and peasants.

"Robe me!" was the first command rasped by the pale body that had risen from the boiling cauldron to his maimed servant, who was prostrating himself on the ground before his master.

The newly re-embodied Voldemort then turned his attention to the boy, his nemesis, who was tied to the ostentatious Riddle family tomb. He refrained from sneering at the dirty child, defiant even when injured and in considerable pain. The dark lord could almost feel a ghost of these injuries mirrored across his own newly resurrected form. A deep laceration on his arm, a swollen, possibly broken ankle and an oozing bite on his leg throbbing from the neurotoxin of the venom. This was most peculiar. He pondered his next move, strangely calm, before deciding on his options. The boy was restrained and not going anywhere. He pulled the robe over his naked form and thought on this ghosting of feelings and sensations in his new body and their cause. This ritual, Babylonian in origin, had never been recorded with these side effects. It must be another connection between himself and the boy. Their only other confrontation had been three years previously had only manifested the boy's protection from his mother's sacrifice. The sharing of blood would negate this. The Dark Lord was stood stone still, unblinking as he watched Harry bite back a moan. He moved oh so slowly, reached forward to touch the scar, the mark left on the fifteen month old baby. The physical remnant of his own demise.

The Dark Lord rarely touched others. It actually revolted him. Touching the unworthy or those bound as servants was an act he only undertook when absolutely necessary. Nagini was the only one to bring him comfort from the physical proximity. Here his fingers traced the red, raised skin of the lightening bold. It was familiarity. He then made the connection. "Give me the boy's wand... now Wormtail!"

The sniveling wretch scrabbled to fulfill his master's wishes while trying to protect the raw bleeding stump.

The wand, slightly shorter than his own yew one, was warm in his hand and did not fight him. His own core, a phoenix feather, had been a tricky match, one that suggested power and promise. This boy had a wand mirroring his, brothers, twins. In a swift arc, his wand arm moved from Wormtail to the boy. He cast two spells silently and effortlessly. Wormtail lost himself in a litany of thanks as a silver hand was conjured and his stump healed. The third spell stunned the boy.

The Lord of Dark Magic, Necromancer and Mage, then watched the boy fall bonelessly to the ground as his restraints disappeared. Voldemort would not, could not trust his new knowledge to any of his servants. He observed the Triwizard cup and levitated it to touch its fallen champion. Clearing away the cadaver, back to Scotland, so all would think the boy had died as he took the cup. Harry's disappearance would be a mystery with no connection to kidnap or any resurrected Dark Lord. Barty would remain in place, as Moody for the time being. The cold emotionless wizard then faced Wormtail. Of all his followers, he was the most sycophantic and odious. His red eyes never left the boy as he ordered his servant to carry the boy to his manor. "Take the Potter Heir to the Blue Suite." His own father's rooms. For two hundred years the lodgings of the eldest boy child of the Riddle family. "Make sure you tend his injuries as you would my own. Ward the room against all harm or escape attempts and then procure me three elves. I must entertain my guests in keeping with my station as Lord of the Manor."

He had to plan. He had to be sure of his follower's loyalties, consolidate his funds and the position of his spy. The boy would also be a wealth of information on Dumbledore. The wizard vanished all detritus of the ritual undertaken that evening and used the walk to the Manor to consider this new beginning. He had to admit he had acted rashly in the past. He needed to be aware of all that had happened in his absence and could not be a slave to emotions. He was angry, but anger was of no use considering the bigger picture. He needed to proceed with caution. Hs own actions had led to his undoing. Believing in a prophecy of all things. Fear had made him act irrationally. Something in the words of that crone had led to this moment. Was the Prophecy still in play? Or was another outcome likely? He needed to consider this prophecy in context of over three millennia of recorded history. Had he damned himself by acting as a fool?

...

He had finally dismissed Wormtail to assist Barty and to watch Severus and Igor, after he had obliviated all knowledge of the boy at the manor from his memory. Let his follower's gossip over the boy's fate. This boy more precious than any Deatheater. A horcrux, one to be guarded and to live an eternity as a hostage to the immortal Lord Voldemort.

In the house, his new elves had cooked and cleaned. The house looking more like a home than the squalid habitation it had been under Wormtail's or that muggle old man's stewardship. The boy had been healed with rough field medicine as he could not trust any healer into his inner sanctum. The boy fed by the elves with food laced with strong calming potions. Wormtail had gathered books from the Gaunt and Slytherin vaults. He had even sent the rat to Hogwarts to retrieve two scrolls by Ravenclaw herself had been hidden in her store room on the seventh floor. He paused from his researches for a moment as he reminisced on his time as a student, he had uncovered most of the castles secrets, even things Dumbledore did not know. He was a founder's heir. Then again so was the Potter boy, who with the Longbottom's were two lines of Gryffindor descendant.

He went to the west wing, on the second floor, passing through the sitting room to the bedroom. He entered to see the boy was awake but completely relaxed lying on the bed boneless, due to the potion in his system. The tall thin dark lord sat on the bed and grabbed the boy's head to stare in the unfocused dark green eyes. No shields protected the boy's memories. He sat on the bed motionless as the elves stood and waited, unsure wether to feed or clean the boy. Awaiting their master's command.

Tom Marvolo Riddle, born in 1928, had only ever felt fleeting fragments of empathy. None since his sixteenth year. He was above such emotional connections, but this boy was so like him, yet so different. He stroked the boy's face. "Mot?"

The elder male house elf stepped forward. "Stop feeding the boy calming potions. I need a healer." The Dark Lord was going to play a bluff with an old fellow prefect, a Ravenclaw, whom he had enjoyed games of chess with as a upperclassman. The healer had no connection with him after his metamorphosis into Lord Voldemort. "Try Tristram Dagworth, tell him Lord Gaunt requests his aid". The boy has been abused. He needs to be cared for... nurtured. He smiled at the irony of him protecting Albus Dumbledore's golden boy. The fact was the boy was a Gryffindor had done him no favours, no onw had noticed that he had been mistreated. It was as if Albus was leaving him ignorant for a reason. Keepin the boy as a maliable little pawn in his games of a 'perfect world'. Now, he had to work to regain his human form, not too youthful but a mature, well to do wizard, returned from a life abroad. One who had rescued a lost and confunded young wizard. One injured and in need of aid. He would play the good samaritan and become the boy's new mentor, homeschooling him, guiding him, keeping him close.

Another mind healing session had left Harry feeling worn out. He lay under his bed and scratched another mark on the wooden planks underneath the mattress. He had been in his benefactor's home for over two months. June had been spent in bed, mostly, apart from his method of cataloging the passing days. By his reckoning, if Tristam had told the truth about the date, it was his fifteenth birthday at midnight tonight. He slid out from the dark space under the oak four poster and went to look at the view of the garden, all nasty rhododendrons, spruces and dark overgrown trees. The room had geometric blue wallpaper on the walls above dark wood panelling, but no decorations other than one mirror and the sconces for candles. His bedroom in this strange house, had a settee, desk and attached dressing room and bathroom. The small suite was both luxurious and completely lacking in character or any personal touch. He pondered all his healer had discussed that afternoon. Harry had been sullen, mistrusting and silent for his initial two sessions, when he was still on complete bedrest and an array of potions to combat the abuse his body had suffered at the hands of his hated relatives. Hector had coaxed him reluctantly to talk about the time before Hogwarts and the three horrendous summers since he started at Hogwarts. Harry was still supposedly on rest and recuperation. The Healer had stated it would be another eighteen months on potions before he was fit and healthy. Harry had a journal now. On the inside of the front cover he had noted down all his medical problems... severely underweight... severe growth problems, weak bones and teeth.. long term damage to internal organs... malfunctioning kidneys, liver heart and lungs.. problems with both his pancreas and his thyroid. He had memory problems as well. No wonder he had been a dunce at school. His eyesight would improve with his healing. He might not even need glasses by the time he was 17.

Harry wanted to know what was happening in the world beyond these four walls. His only news was from Hector, the shrink, or Tristram, his personal healer. All he had gathered was he had been found almost dead in the grounds of his benefactor's home after apparating in a burst of accidental magic to escape Peter Pettigrew, the dark wizard who had murdered Cedric. Pettigrew had been found hiding in rat form at Hogwarts in June by Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt. All this had been explain when he was weak as a kitten after he had been told of Cedric's death. That fact had caused Harry to have a full on flash back and absolute freaky fit. Tristram said he was traumatised because he could not remember things. He still could not remember his first five days under Tristram's care. Both healer's had sworn they would not lie to him, but certain facts were ommitted to protect him until he was stronger. He had tried to argue he was fine, but he had been made to face the facts he may have survived but he was not fine, not by a long way.

He had learned a few facts as well. Dumbledore had actually been his guardian, but an emergency session of the Wizengamot, Harry had been made a ward of Lord Gaunt, his benefactor and guardian. Questions had been raised over his placement with muggles, his poor health, the fact he as ignorant of his pureblood legacy as the heir of an Ancient and Noble House. Harry sat on his bed as he felt his muscle tremors return, now only visible in his hands, but it was a sign he was over tired.

As Harry lay on his bed and hoped Hedwig would be back from hunting soon. She was his only friend now. Ron and Hermione had abandoned him as he had not received any communications, not one letter, even though Harry had received a short get well note from Neville. Hedwig had found him here no problem. She was free to come and go.

Harry then wondered on his benefactor. He could only read approved novels and books on quiddich at the moment. No slanderous wizarding newspaers allowed, only the normal Times and Telegraph. He wondered about school but Hector had promised he would be privately tutored in the autumn. It was so weird, his life suddenly transformed from orphan to that of a young lord. Lord Gaunt was away on business at the moment but he spared no expense for Harry The man had promised the Wizengamot to treat Harry as family, to always protect him and his legacy always. No one would discuss what that meant, but Harry guessed he was richer than he thought he was and that someone had been helping themselves from the Potter vault. He had guessed that last part and hoped it wasn't his muggle relatives enriching themselves. Vernon and Petunia would have bled him dry if they could have. His new position meant he was protected from the media circus. He would never be exploited again, never forced into magical contracts, lied to and betrayed. The magical oath between Lord Gaunt and the young boy promised protection, a home and comfort. Harry watched the shadows across the oak beams on the ceiling. He was so tired after all that talk.

He woke as the elf drew his bath before supper. Life was four light meals a day, breakfast, lunch tea and supper. Just to help his stomach absorb the nutrients from the food. Nothing fatty or stodgy allowed. All food light and super healthy. June had seen him on broth and crackers. Unbeknownst to him, Hogwarts food had not been good for his long term malnutrition. All that lovely food had passed through his gut and not helped him in the long run. Harry thought it was all very interesting and would ask to study healing in the autumn when his tutor arrived.

Hedwig was at the window with a rat in her talons as a birthday present for Harry as she had no post. She cared. He got up to look in the mirror on the way to his bath and noted the pale thin teenager staring back, bags under his eyes from his strange nightmares. Even after two months of proper and correct food he was still scrawny as ever.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione's face was creased in a near constant frown as she reread the copy of the Daily Prophet she had bought on the last day of school. She was trying to convince herself it was all just vicious lies and rumours, the usual standard of reporting for the tabloid. Then again after the disastrous end of the Triwizard Tournament, she had little hope left for her best friend, she was sure Harry was dead, like Cedric Diggory. The Triwzard champion was dead, by the killing curse, two competitors cursed with unforgivables, poor Viktor under the control of the imperious had been made to torture Fleur with the cruciatus, and the fourth unwilling champion was missing, presumed dead.

School had closed early, the day after the third task, all lessons had been cancelled and that afternoon the students from both Hogwarts and the guest schools departed, though the teachers remained to help in the investigation and search. Dumbledore had made a speech full of hope at finding and rescuing Harry from the dark wizards responsible for his abduction and she had returned to Finchley only after mading Ron promise to keep her informed. Yet, she had received no post and tomorrow was 31st July, Harry's birthday. She did not expect any letters as she was far from England. Her parents had chosen a nine week holiday in Australia this summer.

The bushy haired witch had practically memorised a pile of books on kidnappings and abductions, all hastily bought before departing for Sydney. She had no idea how magical law enforcement worked, but she now knew about the basics of profiling and the fact the first 48 hours were critical in a muggle investigation. Each night she woke several times with nightmares of horrific scenarios. She wished she had an owl. There had been no chance to mail anyone before her holiday as her parents had refused to let her travel to Diagon Alley, not after their shocked reactions to the goings on at school. She had not received one letter from Ron or Ginny and now wished she had other avenues of communication. She might try and ring Lavender. She had never been particularly friendly with Lavender, but she needed to talk, to find out what was going on.

Hermione had bought a phone card, using most of her allowance. She knew it was late afternoon in London as she stood in the foyer of the hotel using a payphon, after sneaking out of her room so not to be overheard by her parents. "Hello.. can I speak to Lavender , its Hermione Granger..."

Lavender may have been vane, petty and annoying but she was a wealth of information on all that had gone on in the last two months. Peter Pettigrew had been captured alive in his Animagus form at Hogwarts, the dark mark clearly displayed on his arm and he ranted about his master's return. Professor Moody had been found imprisoned in his locked trunk in his quarter's. Evidence of polyjuice potion being used, so an impostor had taught them all year. Snape and Karkarov had both been arrested as well. A conspiracy to kidnap and murder the boy who lived. Dark rituals used for resurrection were discussed by 'a source' in the Department of Mysteries. Dumbledore and McGonagall had been placed on unpaid suspension. Most important of all Harry was alive but very poorly and distressed, and was in seclusion undergoing intensive treatment for injuries and trauma. Her best friend had a new guardian, his location and the identity of this kind rescuer was being kept secret to protect Harry and to prevent any further abduction attempts.

Lavender had promised to forward copies of all the news articles, as she had been keeping a scrapbook. The girl was even sympathetic to her dorm mate, who had no access to any magical news. Lavender had promised to post the articles to Hermione, using a drop box, which used a mixture of magical and muggle postal systems. She would have up to date info tomorrow morning.

Daniel Granger watched Hermione pick up a large package from the reception desk and shook his head. He hoped it wasn't from that awful ginger boy. He had wanted Hermione to have a clean break after a traumatic year at that school. Hermione had been honest enough to come clean on all that had gone on for school, explaining the early to break up after his daughter broke down in tears of anguish at Kings Cross. Her best friend, that Potter boy had got mixed up in some plot and had disappeared, Hermione had used the words kidnapped and murder. At least, she had not tried to hide behind the usual 'I'm fine...nothing happened..honest.' Both Grangers had arranged specialist therapy and had been prepared to postpone their holiday The psychologist had suggested keeping to their plans, plans for a long holiday and breaking the news to their daughter of their decision to emigrate. Hermione had not even guessed that the practice had been sold. Daniel had even booked a tour of the Sydney Magical Academy for his daughter next week, reassured by the headmistress that their had been no serious injuries, abductions, accidents or deaths at the school ever. No incident of prejudice of muggle borns, there were no purebloods in the Australia. A completely foreign concept to the Antipodeans. The statute of secrecy was kept even though the magical population lived a mostly muggle lifestyle. All together better and healthier than that supposedly best magical school in Europe.

Hermione sat a breakfast and tried to inhale her breakfast in her rush to get back to the press cuttings Lavender had sent.

"Slow down Hermione. Your parcel will still be there in half an hour." snapped Jane Granger. She abhorred bad manners and sloppiness.

"Sorry Mum... Dad... Its just I talked to Lavender yesterday. Harry's alive, just not well. Under intensive medical treatment, both physical and psychological. I sent a short message to Harry via secure drop box. I could pay in Australian dollars here, no need to exchange into galleons. Its so much simpler, just a special delivery code."

"Oh honeybee, I'm so glad your friend has been found, but it sounds like he's got a long battle ahead of him. You must write to him and explain about your holiday in Australia so he doesn't think you have been a bad friend." Jane then stole a glance at her husband, before breaking their decision not to return to England. "Daniel and I have some news for you. We would have waited until you finished at Hogwarts, but considering the failings of that school, you should finish your schooling elsewhere. In two days were are visiting the two schools here. The Magical Academy in Melbourne is split between boys and girls with a very tradition approach. The Australian School of Magic in Sydney is mixed and teaches a full curriculum, normal and magical. I expect you to consider our feeling in this, because Hogwarts has proved to be unsafe and somewhat lacking. You are a bright girl and you deserve the best education. Please read these leaflets. Note that Ms. McGonagall lied to you when she said Hogwarts was the premier school for magic. In fact, the Ritual School in Kyoto is the top school in the world, but has a waiting list of twelve years for even an interview. Sydney is third after the Dyvani School on Calcutta. So, do some research, but you have to convince us to go back to England. This decision is for all of us, not just you."

Hermione sat back and realised she would never convince her parents to send her back to Hogwarts. First, she had to hear from Harry.

...

All communications to Harry Potter were screened by Gringotts, then passed to Lord Gaunt. Tom Marvolo Slytherin De Montfort Gaunt read the short note to Harry from the Granger girl. He pondered her news. The boy would need friends and this girl was not too close, but bright and powerful. Their friendship would be long distance and would not damage his long term plans. His precious horcrux had been treated abominably, abused and controlled. No, keep the boy sweet, just no friends or contacts with Dumbledore's group. Not that he had to worry about Albus Dumbledore at the moment, the man was seen as incompetent after the Moody fiasco.

His plans to date had seen the rat Wormtail arrested. Peter would escape custody when the Dark Lord freed the faithful from Azkaban in a few weeks, but the rat's revelations had driven a wedge in the Order of the Phoenix. During his initial interrogation, Pettigrew had let slip the news that Dumbledore had known all along that Pettigrew not Black was the secret keeper of the Potters. The old man's need to control the Prophecy boy would be his down fall. The Dark Lord paused to look in the mirror before going upstairs. His dark hair flecked with silver, his eyes black as obsidian rather than blood red and no trace of his previous snake-like visage. The use of the boy's blood in his resurrection had fortified his retrograde into a fully human viasge. He had taken the fine looks of the Potter's, the Evan's and the Black's. He had been surprised to find the Evan's were an old squib line indirectly descended from the Druid Warrior Priests. He no longer looked like his muggle father.

The breakfast selection was kept warm on the buffet in the dining room. Lord Gaunt served himself and sat down as the boy joined him. Harry helped himself to a bowl of fruit and porridge. The boy had not gotten over his habit of no eye contact and being as quiet as a mouse.

"Good Morning, Harry. I fear I must apologize. Some of your friends mail has been delayed due to security concerns."

Harry tentatively took the package. He had been down since his birthday. Lord Gaunt had spent the day with him, but he did not know this formal and stand-offish wizard. He was unsure of just how guardian-ward relationships worked. He read the short note. "My friend Hermione is in Australia. Her parent's are transferring her to school there." Harry noted the book she had sent, a book on Aboriginal chanting magic. He'd expected some self-help book.

"I think most student's will transfer or be homeschooled. The Ministry has yet to find four replacement teachers and the rumours is that Hogwarts will fail to open." The older wizard left the news at that, rather than say anything directly against Dumbledore, McGonagall or the other staff at the school. Lucius was working on a back-up plan. At the end of the month, Malfoy would propose several new staff with Snape as Headmaster, with subtle changes to the curriculum and outlook for the school. All very conservative and restrictive to appease that fool Fudge. In a few years, the school would increase its standings and come into lie with ICW school guidelines, but all changes had to gradual.

Harry slowly ate his breakfast. Careful not to catch his guardian's eye. He had to admit he was bone tired and already queasy, but he always felt this way before his potions. The vials were labelled but Harry know knew each by look, consistancy and smell alone. Nutrient potion, dark yellowy brown, thick, unctuous and slightly gritty, tasting of off herring. The mood-leveling potion, pale blue, thin and tasting of peppermint. His specialist long term healing potion to strengthen bones, tissues and organs, grey, slippery and aways made him gag with its metallic taste, almost like blood. Each taken with each meal. Harry was sure the elves made a note on all he ate, he was allowed small servings but was served three additional meals to the formal sittings at Breakfast, Luncheon and Dinner. It was all very upper class. The mysteries of dress, place settings, cutlery, wine and courses were an education in itself.

Lord Gaunt watched Harry force the potions down. "How are you feeling this morning Harry? You look exhausted."

"Oh, sorry. I'm tired."

"Come, I'll help you upstairs. You'll feel better after a nap. The trick to healing is lots of rest. If you need, you can dictate your reply to your friend, Miss Granger."

Harry tried not to look shocked. He was always surprised by the odd kindness and thoughtfulness of this stranger. "Ohh, thanks for offering, but I need to think what I want to say. So much has happened. Everything has changed."

"Yes, hopefully for the better." Lord Gaunt looked intently at the tired boy.

Harry all of a sudden really wished he felt fit and well and was able to enjoy everything, rather than just be extremely worn out all the time, washed out and wan. "Yeah, better than Surrey." Then again, detentions with Filch were better than his relatives.


End file.
